


Hunger

by anti_ela



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: College, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti_ela/pseuds/anti_ela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marci's life is exactly as intended; Foggy has a shirt with his face on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [petricholour (Laboni)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=petricholour+%28Laboni%29).



> I love Marci. This was supposed to be longer, but procrastination. I'm so sorry for the delay!

Marci Stahl was not a good person. She had made efforts in that direction, of course, because one does want to perceive one’s self as noble, but since the only portrayals of good she had as examples were cartoonish, idealized fantasies, she soon decided it was not for her. The hours she spent volunteering for her Honors Society membership (all carefully calculated for maximum output with minimum input) taught her that she could be generous if it did not harm herself; she could check her selfish impulses if the occasion merited it; and she could refrain from cruelty, but was not moved to kindness.

This, she felt, was not true goodness. Perhaps neutrality.

It bothered her, but not overly. After all, no one else seemed to notice; indeed, she saw no evidence of goodness in any of her peers. They made the right sounds, even actions, yet something about them left her unconvinced.

So she worked.

Accolades, in her family, could be defined as silence. If no comments were made at the dinner table, she wasn’t doing poorly. A negative is not as encouraging as a positive, though, so she learned to thrive on others’ jealousy, their spite, their quick and cutting remarks. She enjoyed the sensation of conquering, and when she was named salutatorian her joy was all the more fierce when she could look at all of those who’d fought against her and lost. Her speech was witty, delivered with precision after weeks of practice. As she sat down to applause, she thought, _I wonder if anyone will even remember it past tonight?_

Her parents never heard it to remember: They’d had plans.

But Marci had no expectations. They knew she was going to Columbia, but Marci knew the date and time that students were allowed to move into the dorms. She arranged for movers, packed her belongings, and waited for—well. Whatever it was, it didn’t happen. She woke at five, and when the movers arrived at eight she was ready.

When everything was tucked away in their van, she climbed the stairs to make a last sweep of the house. Her room seemed the same, but the closet was empty. She was leaving the prints on the wall, the books in the shelves, because in spite of her having chosen each one they had never felt like hers. She didn’t examine why. As for the rest of the house, it was unchanged. She smiled. What had she expected? With that, she walked out of the house and closed the door.

Two weeks later, the campus would be full, but when Marci arrived it was quiet. After directing the movers, she tipped the men and immediately forgot them. Two beds, two wardrobes, two desks. The walls were white, but the window faced east. She walked over to it and looked out, one hand on the glass, watching as other students and their families parted. One man had fifteen people with him, each wearing a loud blue shirt with his face on it. She couldn’t hear him from this far away, but every so often he would climb on top of a wall or a rock and make what was probably a ridiculous speech to thunderous applause, complete with hoots and whistles. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass and watched them until they went out of sight.

The phone rang. She answered it after glancing at the screen. “Hello, Mom.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“At college.”

“God, of course you are. Why are you so dramatic? You couldn’t even leave a note?”

“I left two. One on your desk, and one on Dad’s.” She paused, listened to the dial tone for a moment. “The drive went well. I like my dorm. I think I’m going to like it here.”

She turned away from the window, tossed the phone on the bed (her bed), opened the box labeled Shoes, and placed them in the bottom of her wardrobe.

—————

Foggy’s family was absolutely, definitely the loudest, most ridiculous family on the planet. It was awesome. They’d written a song and made shirts and he—he was really going to miss them. Even though they were, like, three miles away. He grinned, thinking about Nana’s dodger blue hair, and surveyed his new kingdom. His tiny new kingdom. Oh, well! He’d had smaller.

He pulled out shirts and jeans from the trash bags his Mom hadn’t convinced him were a bad idea and stuffed his clothes into the wardrobe. He opened one of the drawers and dumped the boxer and socks bag into it, then looked around at the walls. He’d been planning on taking his posters from home, but then he decided he wanted a fresh start. Now, though, it seemed like it could have been a bad idea… Whatever. It’d be awesome in a month, but now was time for breakfast/lunch. The cafeteria was supposed to be open, and getting a head start on knowing which food is disgusting was always a great idea.

But that was Foggy: haver of great ideas.

He pulled his hair back into pigtails, then moseyed out of the dorm. He’d seen a map at some point, so he had vague notions of how to get there. And anyway, getting lost while you had time was better than getting lost on a crunch. The campus looked like most campuses, but what he loved was the sky. How many places in the City could you see all of this sky?

It was probably inevitable that he’d run into somebody. The fact that this somebody was a cute blonde who looked like she could eat him for dinner was, uh, was basically just a super plus, honestly. She brushed her hands on her skirt and glared at him from the height won by some very, very high heels. He bit his lower lip and smiled, holding out his hand. “Hi, I wasn’t watching where I was going because I’m an asshole.”

She looked down at his hand, then his shirt. Her mouth made a small “oh,” and she glanced away, blushing slightly. He looked down to see his own face staring back at him.

“Oh, yeah, that. My uh, my parents—it wasn’t my idea. I mean, if I had to put somebody’s face on a T-shirt, I’d definitely put yours.”

She raised an eyebrow, then looked him over slowly. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "my roommate isn't here yet. After lunch, we should fuck on her bed." She turned and clicked away.

Foggy squeaked, then hurried after her. "Yes. Absolutely. My name's Foggy. I am 100% prepared for this, obviously, like I am for all possibilities, but also I'm not at all and have no birth control, and safe sex is really important, and uh. I mean, I'm sure you're—and I'm—but, like, you know, babies, and, uh, maybe we could go out first?"

She had stopped mid-spiel and was staring at him, and probably faces couldn't burn off from blushing this much but it felt like a pretty real possibility. She still hadn't said anything, and it had been at least three seconds, and god. Day one. Hour one of day one. God!

"I don't know," he choked.

"Why do you want to spend time with me?"

He looked down at her shoes. "You kinda seem like you could eat me alive?"

She laughed, and he looked up. "Oh, yes," she said, her voice a little odd. "I'll devour you whole."


End file.
